


Flair: Polychrome

by EccentricAtBest



Category: Original Work
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-09
Updated: 2020-07-09
Packaged: 2021-03-05 06:09:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25159771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EccentricAtBest/pseuds/EccentricAtBest
Summary: August Linn, a young 12 year old girl, copes with the new lifestyle before her. She befriends twins who help her discover and unravel the supernatural mysteries in the village and the absurd conspiracies of the school she tries to fit in. Only to find out that the mysteries are planned against them.





	Flair: Polychrome

"August!" the dissociating child snaps back to reality as her unsuspecting eyes glance back at the aged woman standing authoritatively in front of her sight, and in front of everyone else in the room, who's attention were drawn to her acknowledged presence. The place and the people were foreign to her. She was foreign to them. But the feelings weren't mutual. As much as everything was strange to her, she was stranger to them.

Mrs. Wolfram. The art professor had a pose that intimidated the new student, who was about to explain herself, but not until the woman interrupted her, "please, do stand in front." The woman gestured for her to stand in front of the class with a commanding tone of voice.

It took for her a minute to process what was said, and what was said before that. Her attention was focused on to the void. To the curtains around the whiteboard. She was glad nobody noticed the difference so far.

She slowly got up to her seat. Reluctantly looking at the people on each of her sides. She spotted someone encouragingly gesturing for her to head in front as soon as she possibly could. She didn't know them, but she appreciated the confident kindness they established to her, even on her new day in school. Everyone most likely assumed she was just the shy kind when it came to introducing oneself, but it was really more to it than just that. She wasn't shy, only socially selective. In other words, introverted.

Her eyes directed towards the path she had to head towards to, and took a few step forward and for what seemed like an eternity to the students waiting, she now stood out front of the class.

Readying herself, she cleared her throat.

"I'm August Chenn, I'm 10 years old and I just moved in to Greenwood last week. I am also a Synesthete. I-I have G-grapheme to Color Synesthesia. Something- that lets me see the world differently. I see the colors of letters and numbers. My senses are a bit mixed, or something." She stopped. Her arms were hidden behind her back as she fiddled with her fingers nervously. She was hesitant to continue, because it seemed as though she had said enough.

The students were agog by this introduction. She didn't act peculiar, every child would be just as stunned and culture-shocked as she was with the circumstances at hand. Her origin, however, was what indeed made her seem stranger than usual. She wasn't normal, and she knew that.

Her brown eyes were frantically busy finding the figure of the teacher. Which she had just spotted on the right side, camouflaging in the crowd. The teacher took this as a signal that she was finished introducing herself.

A girl raised her hand and, without being given the permission to speak, daringly asked August a question. This particular act had the teacher in a halt before heading out front of the class to assign the child back to her seat as she wrinkled her nose, cringing a little for poor August. She knew everyone else in the classroom had the notion to question this since the girl had set foot into their premise.

"Is that your natural haircolor?" Her voice was naive and curious. It wasn't the precise question that formed in the rest of the children's minds. The majority of the questions they were ready to get the answer of was "What did you do to your hair?" Or "What happened to your hair?". However, those would most likely come off as disrespectful, in a way. It was probably best if the question was asked in a less specific, less bold way, more or so dodging the rude possibilities of asking about it. Which she might've just done now. Needless to say, was a bit too imprecise and illogical. Of course it was obvious that it was not a natural haircolor.

August knew everyone would've questioned about it in the first place, she didn't have to be surprised about this. Not that she was.

She let out a quiet, nervous sigh.

Her hair was what made her indeed weird to others at first glance. It wasn't her natural haircolor, but neither was it dyed. It was a complicated story.

She had no idea as to how it morphed into as it is now. It never happened by accident, 'nor was it deliberately made to look like it now.

Ever since she was a very young child, she was fond... of art. And she created art through a lot of ways. Sculpting, weaving, painting, designing, redesigning, etcetera... To the point that at such a young age, she had mastered all that she needed to become a better version of her artistic aspects. There was not a moment when she would have this- what artists would call, art block. Her imagination prevailed against it and there was not a moment when it didn't.

There probably was not a time when she wouldn't make art. But of course, when she didn't, she would think about it. Sometimes she swore she felt like the surface of her skull electrified when she was lost in her daydreams of perfecting her abilities. Back in her town, she would teach the younger children painting. Then sell her sculptures to the townsfolk, then the designs would have to be sold to the outskirts of town. She would then invest or save the money all for the benefit of her grandparents. Her life seemed all planned out. Until, of course, the outburst.

The outburst that shifted the entire image of her future completely differently. A path that she now cannot envision without second thoughts and doubts lies before her eyes. Being now blinded with all the mistakes she thought had caused the major shift. Its occurrence was not expected by everyone. Everyone including her. Especially her.

Unfortunately ever since the outburst, she has had been having art blocks herself. It was hell for someone who had not experienced an error during their life spent doing on what they're passionate about. She has now deemed it her own personal hell.

On top of that, she's also been having difficulties maintaining consistency with her style due to the frequent departure and arrival of art block, which causes to separate her mood and way of functioning as an artist.

But there was only one thing that made her art stay true and consistent with her soul. The inclusion of colors on them. Vibrant colors. Colors that give life. Colors applied to even pieces that are for horror. She didn't mind the odd combination of scary faces and vibrant chromas.

Colors were never an exception when it came to August's art. Despite the idea being inappropriate and unfit for some works. To her, it just felt like without the vibrant colors, it wasn't her own art.

Most likely, that is probably just how her hair changed. The theoretical idea might be undeciphered by the science that the current humanity studies, but who knows? It may have already been explained in the unknown depths of the subject. The obsession and consistent decisions of including colors into her art must've psychologically altered her genetics. The thought just seemed more magical than scientific. But somehow, the poetical idea seemed more fitting if one takes the time to observe and think about it.

The color of her hair had several strands of different colors, but the dominant of all was the color magenta, and the rest were the known colors of the rainbow: red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo, and violet, mainly underneath her hair, while some of the less dominant colors had enough space to be stranded between magentas.

Other than that, the messy bangs and the tangled strands of hair showcased enough that she hadn't taken care of her hair for probably weeks already.

While some were fascinated by it, some were simply curious, and some had a. . . feeling of predicament regarding her hair, for some unknown reasons. Mainly to those children who like to keep a uniformed appearance and behavior in the school grounds. Mainly the prefects. Mainly the teacher's pets. . .

Though being any of these students are not inherently horrible, even she knew that. However, their energies were the most vile one in this case. . .

August sensed their presence. August sensed their negative frequency attempting to be lowered and unnoticed, but boy can she sense their sneaky little energies. August has seen these in movies, and read these in books. She knew there were always going to be people like them. The only thing she had to fear is when sneaky people like them are not present or visible, because only then will one realize that something is wrong, and will know that, but wouldn't have the clearer image of why.

"It is." She answers. Simple, but straightforward. While some were understandably flabbergasted by this answer, the others gave this disclosure a look of disbelief. The negative energies' frequencies are blatantly high yet discreet once again.

Another kid at the back seat asked her a question, then another, and another, until the classroom was enough to end up a cacophonous nightmare for her. And, of course, for Mrs. Wolfram.

"Silence!" August jumped as Mrs. Wolfram then provocatively slammed her hand on her desk in an attempt to lower down the voices. Which, obviously, always worked. Especially in this class' case.

"I do not want to hear another word coming out of your mouths. If and when I do, everyone will be immediately sent to detention after school!" She threatens the children. This caused them to shrink back to their seats, making sure their mouths are kept shut as to avoid what was to be done to them if they didn't. Though the children may or may not be smart enough to know that threats like these weren't most likely possible to happen to them, they still remain obedient.

August scanned the whole room with vigilance and anxiety oblivious in her eyes.

"Kindly return to your seat, Miss Chenn." The teacher softened her tone, but immediately shifted her vibe to being authoritative once more as August immediately bustled past everyone to head to her seat.

She sat down quietly, but she sensed that the attention was still with her, and she needed for it to go away.

Fortunately, it does as Mrs. Wolfram slammed her hand once more on the desk, which helped ease the attention that August didn't want to have.

But the only thing that would help me, she thought, was to remain hidden.

And that is, when she returned home. But where was home exactly?

She noticed a girl looking straight at her, the same girl who asked her the haircolor question. Her chair is stationed on August's front-right side. Her skin was fair white, eyes cyan, and hair bob-cut and blond. Notable clothing was the pale red-orange beret w/ two pins, blue and yellow, pinned to it- that she wore on her head.

There was something off about her. The expression she bore was eerily calm and mischievous. It didn't fit for an innocent-looking girl to look so... composed. No- robotic.

August did not like the attention she was having, so she asserted dominance and blatantly fixed her eyes straight into the girl's. Unfortunately, for August, it wasn't threatening enough for the girl as she waved her hand to her as a "Hi" and had the enough audacity to smile at her. She offered a handshake. August was hesitant to accept it, but obliged anyway. She smiled once more and immediately averted her head to the board when the teacher got back their attention once more.

"Alright class, have you decided your school clubs yet?" She adjusted her glasses as she sat down on her desk. The tension easing, for now.

Everyone else responded in unison with the same answer "yes", while August waited for further information regarding the discussion.

She didn't realize the boy on her left had her sketchpad the entire time, probably when she left from her armchair to introduce herself earlier, until he exclaimed, "Teacher! The new girl can be in the art club with us!" And held her sketchpad up for everyone, especially the teacher, to see.

What an imbecile, she thought. As her eyes caught him observing her sketches and paintings, especially the special sketch of her adoptive parents.

It wasn't part of her plan to become known for her skill. As she learnt that people would be mercilessly asking for art without any money or anything in exchange if she did so. She knew this because of the times she's had in the past with classmates and neighbors of hers.

Taking one's own variable without authority is a crime, she thought. Not just in the concept of law but in empathy and humanity as well. His energy was naive and innocent to know anything about empathy, she thought.

"May I have a closer look, Bryson?" The boy, Bryson, hurriedly headed towards the teacher's desk to hand out the sketchpad.

As he got closer to the desk, the teacher gestured for him to come closer.

"Did you take this from August without her permission?" She slowly asks the question with a somewhat certainty that suggested he most certainly did so.

Bryson apologetically nodded in response as he pouted his lips. His eyes now seemingly showcasing the shame that he felt, as he hung his head.

"How many times have I told you to ask people's permission before taking their belongings?" She questions him in a calm yet menacing demeanor.

Apparently, this wasn't the first time he "stole" someone's things. That was what August knew now.

". . . seven. .", the children began to laugh at his answer.

The teacher sighed, "August can decide which club she wants to join in. For now you ought to return her sketchpad and apologize to her." She said.

He reluctantly headed back to his seat and, full of shame, was about to apologize as soon as he was getting back to his seat beside August, avoiding eye contact.

"I'm sorry, Chenn." He apologized, still having his head facing downward.

It didn't seem like people's gazes weren't going to go away unless she accepted his public apology, and so she mentally rolled her eyes and responded in as much sincerity as she could offer, "It's okay, I forgive you." Then took the sketchpad from his hands as gracefully as she could.

What was odd was that he was glaring at the open sketchpad, Hanzi and Annya Chenn. Her sketch of her own parents, smiling innocently in their own two dimensional world. While a boy gives them a look. An odd look- a mix of anger, fear, confusion... sadness? Was he threatened by a drawing? Or was that just his insecurities as an artist spilling out of his eyes? Was it August's skill that he despised all of a sudden?

Then he glared at August. As she noticed this, she then narrowed her eyes in confusion. This made Bryson conscious of his actions then proceeded back to his seat, quietly, looking towards the window screen on their left.

August took a few moments to look at the strange boy, no stranger than herself, and went on looking back at the curtains she had been staring at ever since the start of class.

That was white before. Now, it's yellow.

\-----

After the morning classes were over, someone walked up to August when she was already outside the room walking through the hallway. A tall (taller than August), girl with long, red hair, emerald eyes and freckles all over her face, hugging a black and white-striped notebook around her arms. She wore a puff-sleeved w/ gradient blue to green-colored patterned spots, and a pair of blue jeans. The set of outfit was much neater compared to August's, who was clad in a big, black shirt, a loose denim jacket, and a loose beige pants. The pair of rubber shoes she wore were bulky and yellow.

"Hey, new kid!" She catches her attention with her loud voice, grinning from ear to ear.

August averted her head to where she heard the voice behind her, and noticed the girl with the black-and-white notebook.

"Wanna have lunch with us?"

She had an Irish accent, she examined. The girl was accompanied by another shorter boy behind her. It seemed like he was her brother, given the similar red-hair and pair of green eyes set of genetics.

She had to admit, she didn't want to. But she had to. It wasn't as if she had the audacity to take this down. She needed to know people in this strange, new world. And she couldn't do that if no one was willing to interact with her first. Well- not as much as that Bryson kid, no. But as willing as this girl.

She nods in response to the invite.


End file.
